Back Where It All Began
by SaintJacTheGingerNinja
Summary: Surely a summary will give it away? ;) Angst with a science fiction theme - come and have a look if you're looking for an out-of-this-world fic... (Jac Naylor focused).
1. Chapter 1

**So I promised Amy a fanfiction and here it is... it did get a bit off the whole 'fluff' topic, but there should be some to come. Short and sweet because then maybe I'll upload faster, although I am notoriously bad at updating. Anyway, enjoy? :P **

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Dusk drew in, beguiled the light away. A rich coral smudge settled across the sky, the warm orange beneath leaking seamlessly through the office window.

Jac faced her reflection until it seemed to root itself inside the glass, age-old. Perhaps the way the drizzle softened her features, dribbling deftly down her cheekbones, made her feel more like a human being. Indeed, if that was so, she was being selfish. Again.

She sighed. The outside sounded lively. Her crossed arms were numb. She couldn't take it any longer.

Smoothly, Jac moved into the scanner room to escape the hustle of the ward, her rampant headache aggravated by the constant nattering, screeching, blubbering.

They had been frequent, the headaches, too frequent. Part of her knew the cause, and she supposed her subconscious had tempted her here, either to mock or help. After all, she was the only one willing to help herself. If what she suspected was true, she would have no one to care for her.

It was colder now. It took her a minute to realise how _unnaturally _cold_._

There was a slow symphony of machines humming in the quiet. The scanner droned ominously. Her neck snapped towards it, and so her feet followed. She found herself climbing into the tunnel, punching at the button, sliding the slab, and herself, inside.

The machine growled. Stuffed in her pocket, the Fentanyl box dug into her skin, the rattle of a full pill set barely surfacing amongst the rumble of mechanics. She squeezed together her eye lids, which creased at the edges, wishing more than anything to get away from there.

A few moments and the concluding clank thundered. She clambered out, stumbled down, raced to the computed results-

Nothing. Only a blank screen blinked back at her. There must have been a damn fault of some kind! She smacked the monitor in frustration, ignored the pain shooting up her arm. Her hand stretched to her head, and then stroked her hair, twisting wildly in confusion. It was then her eyes fell on a sign, the letters struck on in red:

**OUT OF ORDER.**

Funny. She could have sworn that wasn't there earlier.

At once, a whirr of excited voices soared through the door. Jac jumped back. Frantic sirens were thrust into the air, wailing like war shells. Her head craned up to locate the source of the noise. A call for silence followed, unmet, and then a sprightly rush of wind.

Something had happened. She had left the ward for five minutes and Maconie had somehow managed to blow the whole bloody hospital up-

Someone gave the door a hard clout. With a clenched jaw, she yanked at the handle, charged forward in a blind rage, and collided straight into a body. She bounced back off him, the Fentanyl thrown out of her pocket. The kneeling man scrambled to recover the box, mumbling an apology, which promptly became jargon in the loud bustle of people.

Jac was dazed by the light streaming through the open blinds. It wasn't the height of the day, it was after dusk! She managed some form of softly uttered gratitude, scarcely listening to an incompetent's garbled talk, until, that is, he stood back up into her eye line.

Her mouth gaped, startled.

"Ms Naylor, I'm sorry, I was just- well, certainly the door had it coming." Joseph Byrne did his weird, little, embarrassed smile thing.

"Joseph." All other words left her as she stared, somewhat incredulous.

"Don't look so surprised, I work here just as much as you do." His eyes darted, his finger tapped the box lightly, he looked about twelve. "A patient's I presume?" Jac could only nod - her career would be dead in the water if they _were_ hers. "Why don't I take these for you? Lighten the load." He slipped them away before her head even tilted.

And with that she strained to look around her. Everything was the same, but still so different. Posters sprouting 'Major Incident Exercise' plastered the walls, bodies skidded back and forth, there was a buzz of energy in the air. Clipboards. Beds. Shouts. She remembered this, back when- no, but that was impossible-

In the centre of it all, was an old man. He observed the chaos calmly. It was a while before she recognised him and he acknowledged her.

"Ms Naylor," he purred, "I thought you were on Keller today?"

"What year is it?" This seemed to stop him in his tracks.

"Ms Naylor, if you are intox-"

"Humour me."

Lord Byrne could never deny such a beautiful young lady of a- what, a practical joke? "This, Ms Naylor, is the year of our lord 2006."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy chapter two. I seem to be in a writing ditch at the moment because I really enjoy writing dialogue and this chapter didn't really call for it, but hey ho there's always future chapters! I'd love to see if you guys can guess what's going to happen next, or even any suggestions for the progression of the narrative so please review and tell me what you think. Thank you! xxx

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_**Previously:**_

**"Ms Naylor," he purred, "I thought you were on Keller today?"**

**"What year is it?" This seemed to stop him in his tracks.**

**"Ms Naylor, if you are intox-"**

**"Humour me."**

**Lord Byrne could never deny such a beautiful young lady of a- what, a practical joke? "This, Ms Naylor, is the year of our lord 2006."**

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_2006?! _Her mind whirred in defiance. She shook her fiery hair behind her shoulders, scrunched her eyebrows. There was quite a substantial delay before her mouth agreed to close.

This must have been some messed-up dream.

She was no longer level-headed, she couldn't possibly be. Her thoughts ran from her in a game of tedious cat and mouse. There was only one that niggled, snubbed the deadly panic. She clawed and clawed at it - frantic, urgent.

The posters glared, she could feel them on her. The outside sirens wailed with a proverbial anthem like sombre bassoons.

There was something about _today_, something that scared her.

It wasn't just _this_, whatever _this_ was, it was dark, terrible, and buried while she was sunk too deep into alarm to resurface.

Around her were what only could be described as ghosts - faces she had once known, people that had moved on with their lives. She seemed to be in a bubble where everything converged, outside of which doctors, nurses, porters laboured in slow-motion.

And then the headache throbbed at the recess of where spine met skull. Jac cursed for the thousandth time, tightening her frown. Her hands dived for her drugs but found nothing.

That's right, Joseph had-

"Shit."_ Oh shitting hell._

Time re-coiled, snapped and hastened.

She'd practically handed him a whole bloody party pack! And that meant-

Her feet electrified, her muscles twitched, and she jolted towards the locker-room, breath heavy in the air. She left a rather bemused Lord Byrne behind. Her pounding heart drowned out any protest he may have had.

Her skid nearly threw her into the door. She squinted through the dim window and there he was, needle primed. She could not follow her heart as it leapt into the room. He spiked his skin despite fumbling hands; her pupils dilated.

Joseph was about to kill himself all over again. He had _her_ Fentanyl.

Had she caused it? Was she always meant to-

One wretched compression between his fingers and the rich, liquefied mess drained into his vein. He slumped.

She had done that to him.

Stricken, at last the adrenaline was enough to shake Jac from her stupor. A twist and she was scanning the crowd, drone-like, for help. She ran a few paces, hoping to attract some attention. Her reflexes were off-kilter. She had stationed herself behind the nurses' desk before the penny dropped with a nasty clatter.

She didn't need to help. She needed only to wait. Still, if she was wrong about this, Joseph Byrne, _her_ Joseph Byrne, would be lifeless in mere minutes. But, this _was_ 2006, right?

It had to be, for his sake.

And then her eyes found particular interest in the far corridor. A few agonising moments stumbled past.

Jac Naylor veered around the edge, stormy in expression. Her younger self had the prowl of a feline, though propelled forward by masculine trainers. She was naive, held herself too confidently, shoulders up, head high. At least she had left her stupid floral favourites for another day.

And then there were two! It was beyond peculiar. Jac could imagine the corny, carnal filth Maconie, or even Spence, would conjure up if they were there to see the spectacle.

It dawned on her then that, however ridiculous it seemed, she had truthfully... travelled in time? It even sounded ludicrous as a thought.

Soon the younger doctor would have to look towards the ward, towards Jac.

Transfixed though she was, her lone chance of a quick getaway was to hide. The older consultant swiped a last glance, before a flick of golden hair turned her way, and she ducked. Ducked for her sanity, marvelling at the irony of that action. She rooted herself to the floor, glowing red as raised eyebrows were arched her way.

And then a click as the locker room door swung on its hinges, and a crash as it slammed. The sound of safety.

This was real. Her younger version would soon discover Joseph, soon save his life, soon turn him in for a few measly brownie points. Undo what she had yet to do? It made a warped web of sense.

A car crash if ever she saw one. Her head spun for a second. It took tremendous effort to collect herself.

She slid her hands to the wood, assiduously hauled her legs erect. But then as everything once again swam into complete view, she stiffened, felt the air turn hot, the taut hairs on the groove of her neck. It must have been for a perpetuity where she could only gawp.

"No," she heard herself mutter, if only to fill the lengthy silence.

Lola Griffin had a way with surgeons, but she considered this off the scale. She made a show of waving a hand to and fro, trying to catch the redhead out.

"You need to keep an eye on your stent trial." Lola's demands were almost slapped from her, if only Jac had been in a state less than a human popsicle.

Lola nudged her sights back to Keller, back to the danger in the bed. "Handle with care, that's all I'm saying."

Darwin was gone. Lola was here. The man, disadvantaged by his sling, was the only entity focused in Jac's trance.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
